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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702110">Those Who Would Rehang the Stars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/halforclover/pseuds/halforclover'>halforclover</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Space, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Forbidden Love, IN SPACE!, Idiots in Love, Mistaken Identity, My OCs, Original Character(s), Politics, currenlty teen for mild language and threat of violence, forgive me for being a simple gay but i see hands as erogenous zones and go whhhhhh, forgive my worldbuilding, its ninety percent star trek, rating will change as chapters update, space betrothal au, tags will be added as well, there may or may not be hand porn later, will be M or E for sauce later on</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:01:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,642</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/halforclover/pseuds/halforclover</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A royal marriage between the ruling houses of Alqamar and Numur stand to unite two planets in a galactic alliance. Princess Rashiz of Numur understands the role she must play, even if it means marrying a man she has not only never met, but also knows nothing about. A chance meeting with one of the prince's scribes allows her a window into the world she will soon be inhabiting. But as their orbits grow closer, will she fulfill her responsibility? Or follow her heart?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rashiz/Jalen</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Those Who Would Rehang the Stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  
  <span>Though it was a small garden, removed from the vast and labyrinthine menagerie that nested at the heart of the palace, the verdant enclosure she found herself in was still more elaborate and artistic than any she had seen on her home planet. A crystal fountain carved into complex spirals and loops spilled water into an equally intricate basin, its surface all but covered with bioluminescent water lilies, glowing pink and white under the light of the three moons above. It was quiet here. Quiet enough that she could hear the spy’s footsteps even over the murmuring of water and the rustling of leaves. She feigned admiration for the moons, the architecture around her, going so far as to lean down to smell one of the night flowers that bloomed from a nearby bush, its heady scent filling her nose and coating the back of her throat. She felt a presence looming behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>She whipped around and drew the knife strapped at her thigh for occasions such as this. She threw the figure to the ground, pinning them as she bared her fangs, holding her knife to their throat.</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“Who are you? What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  
  <span>“I could ask you the same thing.” She felt a feather-light press of something against her side, glancing down to see the tip of an engraved silver dagger resting against her emerald skin. She looked back at the man underneath her. Indigo eyes looked calmly back into hers from behind circular glasses, a thatch of white hair spreading out on the grass of the garden, warm brown skin all but hidden by the enumerable folds of the man’s light gray robes, a high collar revealing only his hands and face. He notched an eyebrow as she hesitated, looking almost bored, as if he got tackled to the ground on a daily basis. After a long moment, she eased the pressure on his throat, feeling the shift of his arm as the dagger left her side. She sat back on her heels, still wary. The man got up slowly, the dagger disappearing within his robes, his hand returning empty a moment later to rest on the grass. The tips of his long fingers were stained with ink. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>They sat in silence, summing each other up. She had seen other Alqamarans the day that they had arrived here, the welcoming party looking much the same as this man had, all solemn dignity and rigid spines wrapped up in swirling robes with hair shining like miniature snow-capped peaks under the light of the light of their star, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Izraq</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a pale-blue gleam, so much smaller than the star of her homeworld, though its light shone more brightly for it, hurting her eyes. She was almost grateful for the three moons overhead, though she still longed for the ruddy, warm glow of her homeplanet’s star. This Alqamaran seemed much like the others she had met, face perfectly blank, without a hint of emotion. She frowned at him. He raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You know, you still haven’t answered my question,” she said at last.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Neither have you answered mine,” he replied coolly. “What’s a Numurian doing so far into this portion of the palace? I’d been told that your sequestered rooms were towards the eastern side. You’re practically to the western wall.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I got lost.” He raised that insufferable eyebrow again, somehow managing to convey more skepticism in one look than she had ever seen in her life. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Fine,” she growled. “The princess was curious as to why the high prince has been keeping to his quarters considering the peace negotiations are revolving around their union.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“And who are you that you know the princess’ inner thoughts?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“A bodyguard.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Not much of a bodyguard if you’re not there to guard her, now are you?” She stood to her full height, rage roiling like hot wine through her veins. She caught a flash of something in the man’s eyes, and he held his hands up in apology. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” His voice sounded almost regretful. She stared him down for a long moment before sheathing her own knife as she leaned down, hands on her hips, her shadow blocking the light of the moons above her, making the man’s hair seem silver.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“And who are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” she asked, voice low and dangerous.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“A scribe,” he answered plainly. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What kind of scribe carries a weapon like that?” She gestured vaguely to where she thought the dagger was hiding. “That would cost a normal person a year’s wages, minimum.” The man looked up at her, face once more schooled into a state of calm. Something shifted very slightly in his eyes, and she thought for a moment that he gave her a look of begrudging respect before bowing his head forward and speaking to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I happen to serve the prince.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Really?” he looked back up at her. “What’s he like?” The man snorted very slightly, the corners of his mouth turning up just a tad. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Like most princes,” the man said demurely as he began to stand up, brushing invisible dirt from himself.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, that’s not a vague answer at all,” she responded, voice dripping with sarcasm. The man looked up from arranging his robes to look at her, head tilted just very slightly to one side. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You tend to speak your mind, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yes?” The man exhaled again out of his nose, closing his eyes and shaking his head from side to side. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Forgive me, I’m afraid I’m not accustomed to such a...forthcoming personality. Are all Numurians like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Some more than others.” She eyed the man keenly. He was still far too proper and tightly wound compared to her own people, but at least he didn’t look down his nose at her like she was rotten </span>
  <em>
    <span>kvass</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“My education continues.” The man gave her a short bow, turning towards the arched hallway that ran along one side of the garden, only to pause and look over his shoulder at her. “You’re not actually lost, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I-erhm…” The sun had sent since she had made her way from her quarters, guiding her towards where she knew the royal apartments lay, but she had realized once the light had changed that the moons didn’t follow predictable orbits, and she didn’t actually know the way back. She’d planned on sleeping in the garden until morning, returning before she was missed. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Here.” The man gestured for her to hold her arm out, pulling a small stylus from his robes, a small pot of ink following it a moment later. She squinted at him, wary. He somehow managed to roll his eyes even while maintaining the same placid expression. “The ink’s not poisonous, you know, and I can hardly draw my knife while I’m holding a pen.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She hesitated a moment later before holding out her arm. He took her wrist gently in his hand, resting the pot of ink against the hollow opposite her elbow, uncapping it and dipping the tip of the pen in, letting the excess drip off before holding it poised above her skin. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’m drawing you a map. I’m a scribe, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I thought scribes only wrote words down. Also, you keep a pen and ink in your robes but you don’t have paper?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Would you like to get back before </span>
  <em>
    <span>Izraq</span>
  </em>
  <span> rises?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hmph,” she acquiesced, and he went to work. He held his face incredibly close to where he sketched quickly and surely, and with far more detail than she would have expected. She could feel his breath puffing out occasionally over her skin. It tickled. After only about a minute he straightened up, taking the ink pot and sealing it tightly. He reached within his robes once again and withdrew a small, ink-stained handkerchief which he used to clean his pen. He then gestured to what he had drawn, tracing his index finger along the path that she could now clearly see led her back to the correct side of the palace. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I trust you can find your room from here?” he asked, finger poised on the end of the path. His skin was slightly cooler than hers. She nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“This ink isn’t permanent, right?” The slightest curve of his mouth was the only indication that he was smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No, it’s not.” He withdrew his hand, placing it and the other in the sleeves of his robes. “Best of luck on your travels.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Not at all.” He turned once more towards the hallway, calling out as he went. “Take care to memorize that before you wash it. Would be useful for a bodyguard to know the inner workings of the palace her princess is staying in.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She waited until the gleam of his white hair had disappeared before moving on. She clearly wasn’t going to find the prince tonight, and that scribe wasn’t going to help her cause. He’d probably report of a suspicious and threatening Numurian frequenting a nearby garden, and the prince would spend even more time than he already did in his private apartments for safekeeping. She had heard that the prince never attended the treaty meetings, that no Numurian had seen him at all since their arrival. She continued to slink through cool, echoing hallways of polished stone, empty save for the occasional servant that she easily managed to avoid. It seemed as though the Alqamarans couldn’t see in the dark like her. She referenced the map the scribe had drawn frequently, and managed to make it back to her room just as the largest of the three moons was setting on the horizon. The door shut with a soft click as she closed it. She breathed a sigh of relief.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hello, little one,” said her father, the king.</span>
</p>
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